Ouroboros
by tessiete
Summary: The tension that exists in the aftermath of battle doesn't dissipate immediately, and the trust relied upon in a moment of desperation may not remain in light of survival. Some things you have to fight for, and some things are worth it. Rated for language
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Ouroboros

**Author: **tessiete

**Rating:** PG at this point?

**Disclaimer:** Neither Star Trek, nor these characters are mine. They belong to Gene Rodenberry and gang, so...I'm just borrowing...

**A/N: **So, here it is! Second fic. And I'm not really sure what I want to do with it. I mean, as a general guideline, I want to explore the immediate aftermath of the movie, but I also want to fully realise the friendship between the Big Three, and Uhura. I kind of have plans for a next chapter, and I do want it to be multichaptered, so there's that. However, at this point I don't have a **beta reader** or even anyone to bounce ideas off of, so suggestions, harsh criticisms and help are all greatly appreciated. I apologise if I've mucked anything up too badly in this chapter (it was cranked out...really quickly...). Hope you enjoy all the same!

It truly was _fascinating_, Kirk reflected with no small amount of irony.

Just what exactly was so fascinating, he couldn't quite put into words, even in his own head. Images and concepts flashed by with alarming rapidity, and ideas that he'd never before even considered contemplating began cementing themselves in his brain. Preconceived notions, long-established behavioural patterns, and principle relationship dynamics were being evaluated, discarded, and replaced without conscious effort. Once easily understood mechanical functions, standard tactical practices, and basic command procedures were strangely out of focus, and all in all Kirk felt on the verge of an information overload. Combined with the fact that his body was suddenly waking up to the myriad of injuries he'd sustained within such a short time frame, and the dawning comprehension that he was currently in charge of Starfleet's hopelessly crippled flagship, James T. Kirk was understandably, entirely overwhelmed. Well, not entirely. He was seriously reluctant to concede that this was all a bit much, even for him, and was still coherent enough within his own thoughts to pride himself on successfully completing what most would consider a fully realised Kobayashi Maru exercise. The realisation of this was enough to give him slight pause, and reconsider. The term 'exercise' suggested play, or practice. This was definitely not the case, and to be proud of a success that required the sacrifice of upwards of 80% of his graduating class, and the utter destruction of one of the founding members of the United Federation or Planets was highly disquieting, and completely illogical.

It was also highly disquieting that their own resident green-blooded bastard was so obviously rubbing off on him already. Truly fascinating. That was all he needed.

"Captain?" a remarkably controlled feminine voice broke through the haze.

Kirk turned sharply at the intrusion, his neck protesting sharply at the action. He winced before replying with surprising alacrity, "Yeah?"

"Captain, Starfleet Command on channel oh-one-alpha. Requesting status report," Uhura stated. Her face was grave, as she pressed one hand against her earpiece, while regulating the transmission frequency at her controls with the other. "Response?"

"Patch them through to me," he said, "And contact Mr. Scott in Engineering. Ask him for a preliminary analysis of critical systems and warp capabilities." At this Kirk turned to face the forward screen, attempting once more to focus. He continued with authority, giving voice to his musings in a sincere effort to maintain his equilibrium and establish the appropriate and rational responses required to get them all home. "I'm pretty sure we've got none, but whatever. Mr. Spock,"

The Vulcan remained facing steadfastly forward at his station.

Kirk fought down a surge of irritation. At this point, he could hardly tell the difference between what he thought and what he spoke, and really, it was only fair to expect that the crew help him in his attempts by being as outwardly responsive to his orders as possible.

"Spock?" Kirk repeated himself.

Spock's flinch was barely detectable, and Kirk assumed he'd imagined it when the Vulcan swung around to face him with a clear expression.

"Captain?"

"Spock," Kirk said, concern replaced with authority as he tried to gather back his original orders, "Uh, brief statistical analysis of life support systems, and personnel. Mr. Sulu, damage report. Feed them through to Science station. Mr. Spock, organise them into something understandable. Uhura?"

"Channel one, at your command, sir."

He flicked communications switch on the arm of his chair. "Starfleet Command, this is James Kirk, Acting Captain of the _USS Enterprise_."

"Kirk?" The shocked response was not surprising, yet not particularly hoped for either. The voice recovered quickly, but with just as much irate enthusiasm continued. "Would you care to explain just what the hell is going on?"

Kirk had opened his mouth to reply, before the voice of the unidentified Starfleet Communications Officer was replaced with the austere tones of someone clearly more adept at handling a crisis. "Cadet Kirk, this is Admiral Komack. You are ordered to explain yourself, and the whereabouts of Captain Pike. Furthermore, a detailed description of events is required, as well as a full status report of the ship and its crew."

"Admiral Komack, I can assure you that my current position aboard this ship is entirely legit," He said, far too casually. Kirk's eyes slid almost anxiously to the Science station, but Spock appeared not to have heard him. He gathered himself and continued in a much more sincere tone, "However, I regret to inform you that Captain Pike is currently in Sickbay being treated for injuries sustained in the line of duty. Additionally, a preliminary status report will be transmitted to Command as soon as possible, and –"

Komack cut in. "Sickbay? Kirk, what the hell happened?"

"Sir – "

"We lost communication with all ships deployed to Vulcan shortly after departure, and have received conflicting reports from a variety of sources, but none have satisfactorily explained the events described therein. Starfleet is ordering an immediate recall of all ships in the vicinity of the Vulcan in order to examine the –"

"Sir!" Kirk cut him off forcefully, "That is not going to happen, sir –"

"Cadet Kirk, I advise you to watch yourself. You are dangerously close to insubordination!"

"All due respect, sir," Kirk continued, with exaggerated emphasis, "that's not going to happen, because Vulcan doesn't exist!"

The silence that met this outburst was palpable. There was no sound of the rhythmic tapping of a stylus against a PADD, or the electronic beep of a command being entered on a screen, nor was there a rustle of clothing against skin, or the slight creak of weight being shifted in a chair. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. The only noise came from the whirring ring of the automated sensors that periodically chimed as they uploaded information to the bridge. In a moment, the stillness was broken by a smooth, female voice.

"Transfer complete."

"Captain, initial status report complete, and at your disposal," Spock said.

Kirk met his eyes briefly, before the Science Officer turned back to his station. Kirk swallowed painfully, and licked his lips. His mouth was strangely dry.

"Admiral," he began, hating himself for the way his voice cracked. "Admiral, shortly after disembarking from space dock at ten-hundred hours, Stardate 2258.42, it was brought to my attention that Vulcan was not experiencing a natural disaster, but was in fact, under attack. I informed Captain Pike of this, and convinced of the likelihood of such a situation, the Captain ordered a code red before arriving at Vulcan. At this time we were unable to contact any of the other ships who had arrived before us.

"Upon dropping out of warp, we encountered the wreckage of our sister ships, and were fired upon by Romulan vessel. This vessel proceeded to cease fire for unknown reasons, and hailed us, requesting Captain Pike's presence aboard their ship. It was in this period of time we discovered the Romulans had lowered some kind of, of drill over the planet, which blocked all our communications and warp capabilities. Pike, along with myself, after having been promoted to First Officer, Helmsman Sulu, and Engineer Olsen boarded a shuttle for the Romulan ship. While passing over the planet, me, Sulu, and Olsen space jumped onto the platform in order to dismantle it. Pike continued to the ship alone, and Olsen was killed. Me and Sulu managed to damage the drill, and beam back to the ship, but not before we watched the Romulans deposit something into the planet's core. This, we later discovered, was advanced technology capable of creating an artificial black hole which, uh..." he paused, "Which completely destroyed the planet."

Kirk cleared his throat, wanting to wrap this up as soon as possible, and maybe find Bones, because his head was pounding, and he really just wanted to lie down, and sleep for a bit.

"Sir, it later transpired that Commander Spock became...incapacitated, advancing me to Acting Captain. Under my orders we pursued the enemy vessel on its path to Earth, whereupon Mr. Spock and I boarded it, taking control of the black hole technology, as well as rescuing Captain Pike. The Enterprise was then able to engage the enemy and remove them."

Kirk waited for a reply, but the channel remained stubbornly silent. He looked over at Uhura, thinking that maybe the line had been cut, but she merely met his glance passively.

"Sir?"

The channel crackled to life.

"Captain Kirk, you are hereby ordered to report to Space Dock immediately. Is this understood?"

"Uh," Kirk hedged, as he brought up the status report on his console. The results were just what he expected. He gave a short, sardonic laugh. "Sorry Admiral, but that's going to be a bit difficult," he said, as he began transmitting the report to Command. "Engineering reports complete loss of warp capabilities, and there is also severe structural damage. We couldn't warp home even if we wanted to. Actually, it'd be really great if you could send some of your guys to pick us up. Sending coordinates now. This is the _USS Enterprise_ requesting immediate assistance."

"Transmissions received. Just sit tight. Over and out."

Kirk hit the switch, cutting the line. "Uhura, secure channels. Chekov, send a ship-wide broadcast detailing our current situation and orders. And, uh...if that's it, you've got the con. Mr. Spock, come with me."

"Captain?"

"That's an order, not a request, Commander."

Dutifully Spock rose from his seat at the Science station. With a precise, unfaltering gait he made his way across the bridge to join the Captain as he held the door to the turbolift. Kirk noted Spock's failure to meet Uhura's eyes as she reached out a hand to brush his in a silent gesture of comfort. Kirk snorted in vague disapproval and he quickly sidestepped to allow the Science Officer admission. Spock's gaze remained unbroken as the doors closed and his view went from the full sweep of the bridge, to the sterile white expanse of door before him.

"What was that for?" Kirk asked. His emotions we all over the place already, and the Vulcan seemed to have a way of whipping them up into an indiscernible frenzy without any apparent effort. The being that had earned his absolute respect less than an hour ago, and who he'd then found himself pitying while in contact with Starfleet, now filled him with undiluted irritation.

"Pardon, Captain?" Spock turned to him, seemingly entirely composed.

"Look, it's Jim," he insisted, out of reflex, "and what do you mean 'pardon'? Your girlfriend was trying to help you and you can't even find it within your goddamned Vulcan sensibilities to even pretend to be grateful!"

Spock remained as stalwart and immovable as ever.

"I apologise, Captain – "

"Jim."

"Captain," Spock insisted. "I apologise, but I do not believe my relationship with Lieutenant Uhura to be any of your concern."

"Fuck me," Kirk said, now entirely exasperated with his companion. Distantly, he realised that he was probably taking out his frustration, anger, and exhaustion on the wrong target, but at this point in time he could only see Spock's resistance to his well-intentioned solicitude as rather intentionally recalcitrant and confrontational.

Spock's brow furrowed in what could only be the Vulcan equivalent of distressed confusion. "Captain?"

"Jim," Kirk said. There was no way he was going to give on this, trivial as it might be. He knew the battle was over, but he could not let go of the competitive mentality that went along with it. He was going to win. Besides, it was the principle of the thing. They'd saved each other's lives, worked with each other to great effect, trusted each other. He'd seen into the guy's mind. Surely, that afforded him some level of liberty between them. He sighed and continued, "It's a figure of speech...nevermind. Why do I have to order you to do everything? Why isn't it enough that I ask? Are you being this irritating on purpose or is it just natural state of being for you pointy-eared bastards?"

"Captain, I hardly think that it is I who is being particularly difficult. Rather, it appears that your actions are more contrary than my own. You continue to insist that I address you in a manner that suggests a high degree of familiarity, indeed, it nearly intimates friendship, and yet more than once in the past few minutes you have referred to me in less than cordial terms. Admittedly, my understanding of human interaction is lacking, and yet I have never witnessed friends treat each other with such contempt as you see fit to bestow upon me. Therefore, it is only logical for me to conclude that we are not presently engaged in any such relationship, and that your insistence that I call you by your given name stems from a desire to generate some, as yet, unknown response," Spock replied. His voice was clipped and tightly controlled.

This revelation was met with silence from Kirk, who stared, open-mouthed at the formerly taciturn Science Officer. That's not what he wanted at all, and Kirk was hugely frustrated with his apparent inability to communicate his true desires. Even now, he wanted to protest, but was unable to find his voice to do so. His already strained consciousness helpfully extrapolated on Spock's words, leading him to the conclusion that the Vulcan thought he hated him, and had no desire to further any form of partnership between the two. The curtness of the reply alone, suggested this, but the blatant anger and lack of faith in the sincerity of Kirk's overtures of friendship cemented it. Spock turned back to face the door, shutting Kirk out once again.

"Sir, was there a particular destination that you desired to reach, or did you merely request my presence in the lift in order to secure a private location for your emotional display?"

Two could play at that game, he thought. Infuriated, Kirk punched the controls, setting the lift in motion.

"Deck five," he stated. "Sickbay."

Spock looked at him questioningly. "Sickbay, sir?"

"Yeah. Full medical check up."

"Sir, I can assure you that I have sustained no –"

"Well, then I'm sure you'll have no problem _assuring_ Doctor McCoy of that either. All the same, I'd feel better knowing that the current Captain and his commanding officers are able to continue their duties until we can be adequately relieved of them."

Obviously ruffled by this new development, Spock shifted to face Kirk, folding his hands behind his back. "Captain, I understand the necessity of ascertaining the efficiency of the crew at such a delicate stage, however I must insist that –"

"Are you questioning my orders, Mr. Spock?" Kirk met the fathomless depths of his Science Officer's gaze, matching it with his own unflinching determination, locking both in a silent confrontation. Spock was the first to break, blinking and bowing his head slightly, studying the floor.

"No, sir."

"I didn't think so."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **So this second chapter was really an experiment in seeing how far I was comfortable taking certain characters, and...yeah. Basically, I really concerned with Uhura because she's stuck in a whole bunch of tough situations. Also, I'm pretty sure this is the most I've written for anything, ever, including school work... Anyway, feedback is, as always, HUGELY valued and highly, highly appreciated. Suggestions, criticisms, etc.. Anything. Thank you guys! You're wonderful!

**Chapter Two**

The interior of the temporary quarters on the _USS Republic_ were really no different to those aboard the _Enterprise _in any integral way. Though in no dire need of exclusive living space during the brief flight back to Earth, Starfleet Command had seen fit to grant the admittedly exhausted crew of the _Enterprise, _and its few Vulcan refugees, access to half a deck of the _Republic's_ crew cabins, along with all available passenger berths while the _Republic_ staff analysed the damage to its sister ship, and outfitted personnel detachments to assist in the detailed systems repairs that needed to be initiated before departure. Perhaps slightly smaller, and slightly outdated, the cabins were still fully equipped with all the standard equipment one could desire the private use of during an extended scientific mission. In fact, the two beds, the desk, the small sitting area, and the bathroom that serviced adjacent apartments altogether reminded Uhura of the dorm she'd shared at the Academy. One that she found herself eager to return to, and one that she'd be fortunate enough not to return to alone.

She'd taken it upon herself to seek out Gaila in the Engineering department shortly after making contact with Starfleet, figuring that informing her friend of her unlikely survival would prevent a hysterical outpouring of emotion back on Earth, or the even less desirable alternative of sustaining injuries in an overenthusiastic moment of relieved excitement. Unfortunately, her pre-emptive effort to prevent or at least lessen the realisation of these circumstances was entirely unsuccessful. The moment Gaila laid spotted her across the deck of Warp Engineering, Uhura's ears were greeted with a veritable squeal of unmitigated delight. Depositing her PADD on the nearest control panel, her Orion roommate broke into a sprint, limbs flailing, and tears streaming down her cheeks. She skidded to a halt a few feet in front of her friend, arms extended in supplication, yet she seemed almost reluctant to pull Uhura into a hug.

"Oh gods," Gaila began breathlessly, "Oh gods! Nyota! Oh gods, I thought you –" she broke off into a choked sob. Uhura smiled warmly and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"No, I'm fine. Really," she said, leaning back to wipe some errant tears from Gaila's cheeks.

Abruptly, and without warning Gaila detached herself from Uhura, and punched her hard on the arm.

"Why didn't you tell me you were assigned to the _Enterprise_? I could've sworn they said _Farragut_ at Space Dock, and when we heard that it'd been –"

"I was assigned to the _Farragut_, but it was only a computational error. I made sure it was corrected, and I didn't have the chance to find you before things got...out of control."

Gaila smirked, giving Uhura a sly, sidelong look. "You've got that boy whipped," she said knowingly, before sudden comprehension darkened her expression. She lowered her voice discreetly. "I'm sorry about Vulcan. I –" she shook her head, and sighed. "There's nothing I can really say, is there? How is he?"

"He's fine," Uhura affirmed, perhaps too quickly. She noted Gaila's expression, and amended her statement. Whatever else she may be, Gaila was her friend, and confidante. She was not a hostile force to be deflected, and Uhura suspected that her support would be invaluable in the coming weeks. "He'll be fine."

Gaila smiled. "You won't let him not be, will you?" She said, and clarified before Uhura could take offense, "I mean that, he's incredibly lucky to have you."

There was a lengthy pause in which the two women simply regarded each other silently. Their silence conveyed more than any words they could have mustered. After a time, Gaila shifted, and wiped her eyes.

"Listen," she said, laughing slightly, "I've got to get back. Scotty needs help reconfiguring the thermal dampening inverter before we make contact. Its readings are all over the place, and –"

"Yeah! Yeah, go," Uhura said, "I didn't mean to keep you. See you aboard the _Republic_."

"Or back home, at least."

"Oh, Gaila?" Uhura waited until her friend fixed her attention on her once more. "'Scotty?' Already?"

"Hey, it was his idea!" The Orion grinned, throwing a wink over her shoulder as she retrieved her PADD and made her way back to a small crowd of engineers gathered towards the back of the room, turning heads all the way.

That had been hours ago – her only brief respite before duty called her back to her station to initiate contact with the _USS Republic_ and organise and relay information regarding the boarding, and transfer of crew. Now though, safely aboard the ship that was finally going to take them home, Nyota found herself with enough time to seek out that one person who worried her more than any of the events of the past two days.

Uhura entered the quarters somewhat gingerly, her feet making no sound as they crossed the threshold. The doors hissed shut behind her, and she blinked owlishly in the dimly lit surroundings. As her eyes began to adjust, she took in the location of objects, searching for a slim, upright silhouette in the dark recesses of the room. Light spilled from beneath the door that led to the bathroom.

"Spock?" she called softly, not wanting to disturb him if he slept.

The distant sound of violent retching reached her ears, and Uhura covered the distance to the bathroom in a few strides. Hitting the panel on the wall, the door slid open revealing the hunched shoulders of the Vulcan as he braced himself against the countertop. Another attack seized him and his whole body contorted, tension wracking his thin frame. He shakily wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and looked up. Catching sight of Uhura in the mirror he immediately straighted and turned to face her.

"Nyota."

So much filled that one word, yet no single emotion could be ascribed to it, nor could any trace of one be found on his face.

"Spock," she started, but found herself struggling to continue. "Spock, are you...alright?" she asked. Apprehension filled her voice, but she made no motion to go to him.

Her reaction seemed to disappoint him, and he turned back to the sink. Water was a precious commodity aboard a starship, yet now he ran it without reserve. Foregoing the sonic rinser and replicator entirely, he washed his hands, and gathered a small amount of the liquid in a glass which rested on the edge of the counter. Taking a small sip, he closed his eyes for a short moment, further sequestering himself from the world around him. Including Uhura. Finally, feeling strong enough to continue, Spock met Uhura's gaze with his own cold stare.

"Nyota, I –" his voice caught.

The spell broken, Uhura rushed to his side, reaching for his hand and brushing the hair back from his brow. The sudden loss of his entire planet and its billions of inhabitants had left a sucking void in his mind where the quiet thought patterns of his people had previously rested, their absence inexplicably far more noticeable than their presence had been. Now, her touch nearly overwhelmed him. His defences were significantly weaker than he'd anticipated, and the frenzied swirl of her emotions percolated through to his own mind. What she encountered undoubtedly distressed her in equal measure, for her brows drew together and her lips parted in a clear expression of anguished concern.

"Spock, you're trembling," she exclaimed, "And your hands are freezing! Come in here and sit down."

She pulled him towards the sitting area, gently pressing him into a chair. He offered no resistance, following her directions spirit-like, without any outward sign of being aware of his actions. Uhura stripped one of the beds of its light blanket and threw it around Spock's shoulders, before moving to retrieve the glass of water from the latrine. When she returned Spock was staring sightlessly somewhere into the middle distance.

She wrapped his limp fingers around the glass, her warm touch startling him out of his reverie.

"Here. Take a sip. Slowly," she said.

Spock glanced at the glass, as if trying to comprehend what it was that he held in his hands, and precisely what he was supposed to do with it.

"I do not think that would be wise, at present," he stated. "I...What is happening to me?" He looked at her in confusion, his all too human eyes pleading with her for comfort, for an explanation. Some anchor in this maelstrom of agony.

Uhura was calm, seeking to reassure him by any means within her power. She cupped his face in her hands, keeping his focus solely on her in an effort to block out any external stimulant that might push him further over the edge. He tried to pull away, but she was determined, and some part of him was relieved to be subject to emotions that weren't his to deny.

"I think you're going into shock," she soothed. "Don't worry. You'll be fine."

Her words had the opposite intended effect as some half buried memory resurrected itself from within the vacuum of Spock's thoughts reminding him of another day of unrest, and unanticipated emotional reaction; another voice in another place, yet equally safe, providing similar comfort in nearly identical phrases. Suddenly, there was not enough air in the room.

Illogical, Spock thought vaguely, the atmosphere on the ship is richer in oxygen content than that of Vulcan –

Yet that fleeting thought only seemed to further draw air from his lungs.

Vulcan had no atmosphere. There was no Vulcan.

His thoughts became blurred and his vision followed suit. Spots danced before his eyes, and he could feel himself sway. He attempted to draw more oxygen into his deprived respiratory system, but his lungs refused to expand. Erratically, he swallowed shallow mouthfuls of air, breathing faster and faster as he tried valiantly to match supply with demand. Remotely, he felt too-hot hands flit along his cheekbones, and down his neck, still inadvertently broadcasting ghosts of feelings, but he was too much distracted to remove them.

"Spock!" Uhura called frantically, "Spock you need to control yourself! Lean forward and put your head between your legs," She urged, but he was utterly oblivious to her commands. Disengaging herself she moved swiftly to the comlink, keying in the code for McCoy's personal com without a second thought.

"McCoy here," came the gruff, yet prompt response.

"Doctor, medical emergency on deck –"

"Uhura?" there was an exasperated sigh, "Look hon, I'm off duty. Why don't you call the Med Team on –"

"Doctor, it's Spock. He –" She didn't get a chance to respond before McCoy replied with a curt ammouncement of his imminent arrival, before cutting off the communication.

Uhura dragged a hand roughly through her hair, fighting panic. She could not afford that luxury. She needed to stay calm. She needed to help Spock. She needed...She needed to just breathe.

Uhura moved away from the door, and approached the quaking form of her lover. Moving a hand in comforting circles against his back, she spoke softly, yet firmly.

"Spock," she said, trying to get his attention. She grasped at the hand he had braced against one leg, causing him to flinch and glance wildly in her direction. He was still breathing heavily, intermittently coughing and choking which only further helped to feed his nausea. "Spock, you need to calm down, okay? You're making yourself sick. Just focus on my voice, baby," She insisted.

Spock struggled to comply, but his body refused to listen. His heart raced to keep pace with his lungs, while the blood flow to his extremities became further restricted. Uhura's hand on his felt feverish and her fear, and concern, and grief, and love leaked over into his mind, feelings so similar to his own that he could hardly tell where he ended and she began, terrifying him further.

"No," he managed to gasp, staring at her hand as it rested atop his.

Somehow Uhura managed to realise what his protest referred to almost immediately, and she dropped his hand as if burnt. She shuffled away from him a few centimetres, but continued speaking to him, infusing her voice with as much warmth as possible.

Mere seconds later, the door to the cabin hissed open and McCoy charged in with his usual coarse bluster. Uhura jumped up to meet him as he entered, fumbling to organise equipment that had clearly been hastily loaded into his arms.

"What's going on?" he demanded, even as he dumped his kit on the floor at Spock's feet, keen and trained eyes immediately surveying the situation.

"It was my fault," Uhura began in a rush, "I came in and found he'd been throwing up, and then I touched him, and –"

"What'd'ya mean it was 'your fault'?" McCoy's movements were efficient as he examined the Vulcan's eyes, and searched through the contents on the floor, before loading a hypo.

"It was stupid. I touched his face," she explained, "Vulcans are touch telepaths. And then I, I said something – I don't know what – but that was when he started hyperventilating, and I didn't realise, I –"

"Stop with the blame, Lieutenant. He'll be fine," he said, muttering a short expletive and what sounded suspiciously like, "Bloody elf," under his breath. McCoy pressed the hypo against the pale skin at the base of the Science Officer's neck. "This is just a triox compound, Spock," he explained, "Now I know you don't want to be touched but you're gonna have to help me out a bit here, okay?"

The Vulcan managed a nod, his hands clenching against his thighs.

"Okay, I need you to look at me, and breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth." When Spock didn't immediately move to comply McCoy grabbed his chin, forcing his face up. "Look! Smell the flower. Blow out the candle," he emphasised, demonstrating as he spoke, as if addressing a particularly obstinate child. "You're going to be fine. You're just experiencing a common aspect of a Combat Stress Reaction, alright? Now, breathe. In...out...in..."

Slowly, slowly Spock's breathing regulated and his eyes lost their glazed, hunted look. He pulled away, spine painfully straight against the gently sloped back of the chair.

"Doctor," he began, hoarsely, as soon as he could manage, "I am quite recovered. Your services are no longer required."

"You know, most people just say 'thank you'," McCoy said. He huffed in frustration as he reached out to grab the nearly forgotten glass of water. "Take a sip of this," he said, passing it off to Spock. He continued after a moment. "How're you feeling?"

"Perfectly adequate," Spock insisted.

"Uh huh. Tell me, Commander, how were you feeling when I checked you out in Sickbay a while ago? The same?"

"Yes."

"Nausea? Dizziness? Chills?"

"No, Doctor."

"Yeah," McCoy said, with thinly veiled scepticism. "Spock, the past couple days have not been easy for any of us, you least of all. Now, I may not know much about Vulcans," he carried on, before Spock could cut him off, "but I know enough to at least guess that the level of psychological trauma you've experienced as a result of some kind of telepathic disturbance, to say the least, is beyond even your ability to ignore. Not to mention the physical demands this mission and some of its...more enthusiastic members placed on you. You've got to admit that it's more than you can handle!"

"Sympathy, Doctor?" Spock asked. A barely discernable ironic grimace played about his mouth.

"God damnit, man, I'm trying to help you stubborn, unfeeling –"

"Doctor, I am aware of your lack of faith in my abilities, however I feel certain that I do understand Vulcans to an extent beyond your comprehension. As such, I ask that you accept my word that I am more than capable of," he paused to gather a shaky lungful of air, "more than capable of managing my own treatment and recovery from here on in. I merely require a few hours of private meditation."

McCoy gaped at the seemingly unflappable Vulcan before him, disbelief contorting his features. With a disgusted snort, he dropped his head and began gathering his scattered supplies to him hastily.

"What do I care anyway?" he grumbled. "Ungrateful, green-blooded computer."

"Doctor," Uhura intoned mildly, helping to collect various instruments and medications littering the floor.

"No, it's fine," McCoy said, abruptly straightening. He shifted the contents of his arms to a more comfortable position, throwing Spock a final contemptuous glare before addressing Uhura. "Make sure he gets some rest."

And then he was gone.

Uhura turned about to face Spock from where she stood at the entrance of the room. Sympathy and terror and anger were all competing for dominance inside her. Whether because it was easier to divert such powerful forces into a single element, or because the situation made for the allowance of a perceived personal slur, anger seemed to be winning out. Her gaze cut across the figure sat before her.

"That was completely uncalled for."

"Explain," he said. Spock set the glass down, meeting Uhura's eyes with, what she felt, was far too much casual indifference.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. I can't believe -" Suddenly, she found herself near speechless with rage. Her hands were shaking as she gestured harshly to the door through which McCoy had vanished. "He veritably saved your life, a second ago –"

"My life was hardly in danger-"

"And not even a kind acknowledgement!" She attempted to calm herself for the second time in practically the same number of minutes. "Alright...alright, I know how difficult things are, and I know they're messed up, but shockingly enough, he cares, okay? We all do. Don't push us away."

"I fail to see the necessity in expressing gratitude for a simple procedure that I am sure requires little to no skill."

"That's not the point," she responded tiredly, kneeling at his feet. "I can't pretend to understand exactly what measure of pain you're carrying now, but I won't let you bear it all on your own. Let me help."

"All I require at this moment is solitude."

She rocked back on her heels in clear distress. "Spock –"

"Nyota," he said, voice rising barely above a whisper, "please."

Uhura nodded and rose to her feet. "Okay. Anything," she said. "Call me."

The doors hissed shut behind her.


End file.
